King Arthur Prostitution

Words: 1651
Pages: 7

No woman grows up hoping she’ll be a whore, but sometimes, it happens. Sometimes life, tragedy, and circumstances force a woman to make painful choices. Yet when faced with death due to starvation, deciding to save oneself comes all too easily.

I won’t bore you with the details of how I came into the profession of prostitution at age sixteen, as I am sure you have heard it all before. But I will say that I turned to it so I might survive. I remained in it because I had nowhere else to go.

Yet it was not all bad. I did the work for almost four years, and had a fairly regular clientele. I was well known, established, and developed skills in satisfying men. I was one of the few prostitutes willing to lie with other women while men watched,
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That may sound foolish, since I’d lain with so many men, and after a while, one man seems much like the other, but that night, King Arthur was to visit. Apparently, he’d heard word of my skills and demeanor, and asked for me specifically. I’d gone to bed with many knights and a good number of visiting royals, but never the King of Camelot.

Thus, I took a long, steaming bath, created soft waves in my dark hair using the hot tongs, and wore my finest gown of deep scarlet, which fit snugly around my bust, but flared gently from the hips down. It was a beautiful and tasteful garment, and I looked suitable to receive the king, but nevertheless, my heart beat fast as I paced my bedchamber.

As I busied myself lighting candles and pouring goblets of mead, a knock came at the door. I finished filling the vessels, took a deep breath, and answered. There stood the king before me. I’d seen him before from a distance – he was a strapping, handsome young man with broad shoulders, a muscular chest, and short blond locks. He gave me a gentle smile, which made him appear even younger, but that smile belied his obvious nerves, because he began to fidget and shift his weight from foot to
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I slid a full goblet across the table into his hands.

“Thank you,” he said, and drank down the mead in two long gulps.

“I see you’re nervous.”

“You might say that.”

“Why?”

King Arthur rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “My uncle suggested I learn what to do with a woman in bed before I marry Guinevere tomorrow.”

“I see. Have you ever taken a woman to bed before?”

“Have I? Well, I um…” He ran his fingers up and down the sides of the empty silver goblet and avoided my eyes. The king then slumped down in his chair. “No, I haven’t. But please, tell no one.”

“As is dictated by my profession, I am an excellent secret keeper.”

I gave him a warm smile and he seemed to relax.

“Sire, if I may ask, is your bride-to-be a virgin, too?”

“Yes! Of course she is!”

“Then might I offer a suggestion?”

“Please do.”

“Don’t lie with me,” I said. “I can guarantee your future wife would prefer you’re also a virgin. Save yourself for her; that’s the best wedding gift you can give, your body and heart.”

King Arthur chuckled. “How to do you make a living if you send your clients away?”

“I don’t usually, but I do check in to make sure men want to be with me, that they’re not feeling pressured into the situation. Usually they’re not, but